


So Much More

by Evie_G



Series: Aderyn Lavellan [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, I just want Solas to be happy, My First Smut, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 04:32:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4507899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evie_G/pseuds/Evie_G
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So this happened. A short scene that never was meant to be but it happened anyway. No plot, just... words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Much More

**Author's Note:**

> This came about as an attempted to get over writers block and well... I never imagined it would turn out like this!  
> This is the first time I've ever written anything remotely like this so I hope it isn't too crappy! It's after midnight and I can't sleep so there's bound to be mistakes - Please feel free to post criticism :)

He finally found her in the dungeon hovering over the edge of the waterfall, leaning over as if she were about to jump. Left foot forward, arms held slightly away from her body, her hands catching the spray. Solas' movements were careful, quiet, not wanting to startle her. He had nearly reached her when she turned towards him. His breath hitched, pulse quickening as her unbound hair whipped around her face. Through the strands he could see the tears ghosting down her face, salt mixing with the freshwater mist. Those green eyes were pleading with him, begging. Solas stepped forward until he was close enough to touch but he restrained his hands, instead worrying the edge of his tunic until he could count the woven threads.

“I can’t do it Solas,” she whispered, barely audible over the roar of the water. “I can’t be who they need me to be. It’s just too much...”

He shook his head. It pained him to see her suffering like this, struggling with bouts of crippling anxiety and guilt when it was his conscious that should be paying the real price, not her. Though she was strong on the battlefield, decisive in the war room, in private the Inquisitor fretted and doubted and tortured herself through every choice made and every soul lost. He couldn’t take her pain away, couldn’t ease her burden and ultimately when she learned the truth, she would hate him all the more for it.

But he couldn’t stop. Not now, not when she was so close he could smell the lavender oil in her damp hair, so close he could see her panicked heart fluttering beneath her robes. “You are so much more than they will ever know,” he said as he pulled her into a tight embrace. Her slim frame fit just so, the slivers of uncovered golden skin so smooth. He felt the hair on her forearms stand on end, gooseflesh following his hand as he traced it upwards to her neck, could smell the charcoal of her eye makeup as his nose nudged her cheek. Her small, delicate hands gripped his arms tightly, as if she was holding on for support. But she was leaning in, eyes fluttering closed, chin tilted towards him. All soft and warm and lavender and salt. Lips parted, flushed. Heady.

Solas peppered her slave markings with feather-light kisses, whispering soothing sounds in Elvhen. He told her that she was strong, beautiful, wise. He told her he was sorry for the pain he had caused from his mistakes, for the pain he was still causing. He told her he loved her.

Her hands lifted their vice grip from his arms and gently cupped his face. Her fingers traced Solas’ cheekbones and he could feel the trail they left behind like a line of fire. She stared at him, her eyes searching for something as her fingertips danced across his freckles. Finally, she brought her lips to his, sending a heat through his body and drawing a breathy moan from his mouth. Hands wound into hair, chests pressed flush, clutching, desperate. He wanted more. Wanted. _Wanting_.

Her hands pulled at him, pulling at his tunic, frantically grasping at the worn fabric until it was gone, lost to the pull of the waterfall. That fine spray hit his bare chest, cooling the fevered flesh. Then her hands set it aflame again. Her mouth was on him, biting, kissing, licking, _burning_ him. She only broke to remove her own tunic, and then it was his turn. Soft breasts, hard nipples, gentle curves, smooth skin. He drank her in so drunkenly, eyes wide and pupils dilated, fingers tracing every inch but he wanted more.

He tried to hide the tremble in his fingers, distracting her with kisses as he unfastened the laces of her breeches. His mind was all skin and soft and mist and charcoal that there wasn't enough room to _think_. Consequences thrown to the void, _he wanted more_. The trousers and smalls were thrown away, discarded along with his integrity, and there she stood; absolute perfection.

They came together again, a clash of bodies and a tumble of tongues. She fumbled as he touched her, gently, oh so gently. One finger, two, moving slowly, crooked upwards. Her breaths came ragged, each one wrenching him. She was still trying to undo his laces as her knees weakened and he held her up by his moving fingers. Her eyes were dark pools; he could smell her want, taste it on her tongue, hear it in her quiet moans. Solas stripped himself fully and her hands were on him in an instant. Hot and moving deliciously in her palm, making his entire body feel too tight. His hips jerked as he struggled to control his movements, wanting all at once to find release yet relish the moment. He felt her bite the crook of his shoulder as she rubbed a thumb over his head, making him growl as he licked the point of her ear. He grabbed her thighs, lifting her until her legs wrapped around his back, her heat resting just above his hardness. Then he knelt, laying her gently on the ground. 

Solas hovered above her, rubbing himself down her length, coating himself in her, ignoring his desire to tear into her. He waited as she shifted beneath him, trying desperately to manoeuvre herself, mewling in frustration. And then he rushed inside her. She was silken and hot and wet, enveloping, gripping him. He thrust once, cautiously. And again. And again. And again. And faster. And harder. And deeper. And it was nearly too much. It was nearly too soon. He felt his knees grating against the rough stone and a fogged bead of worry emerged that the Inquisitor might be hurting too. He slowed, tried to move her but her hands clawed into his hips, dragging them down deep. A grunt came rumbling from his lungs, an animalistic sound that had not escaped his lips in eons. He resumed his pace and ghosted his fingers over her clit until she cried out, pulling and clinging and tightening. And then he was gone, speeding to nowhere and everywhere until there was just her. The agonizing perfection that was her. And he was obliterated.

All too soon, the pounding of the waterfall brought his mind back to him and he was consumed by himself once more. He kissed her eyelids lightly and smiled as she flinched at the unexpected touch. Her green eyes opened slowly, savouring the heat that had rushed through her. And she grinned languidly, whispering, “Ar lath ma.”

And his heart broke.


End file.
